


The Heart In Me Beats

by Somnos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A little angst, Art, Cussing, Digital Art, Fluff, Good Albus Dumbledore, Good Gellert Grindelwald, M/M, Panic Attacks, Tom Riddle Has Mental Health Issues, Tomarrymort Valentines Exchange 2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29856855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somnos/pseuds/Somnos
Summary: Sometimes love is a head over the heart.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8
Collections: Tomarrymort Valentines Exchange 2021





	The Heart In Me Beats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Occamaestro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Occamaestro/gifts).



> For the amazing OccaMaestro!!

Love is ripping up clumps of grass to give to another in a childish exchange of smiles. It was the feeling of small hands gripping at another’s wrist to lead, laughing, down the wispy hills. Feeling nothing but the cool grass that caressed the skin in shy little dances and the wind that whispered a soft song in your ear. To turn from the bright, oh so bright, blue sky littered with puffs of white to meet another’s gaze. 

It was the light that painted the hollow’s dark crevices away, where grief had once been.

Sometimes love is a scruffy boy with crooked and rusty framed glasses with his tender touch of small fingers. It’s finding grip in each other, snuffing away tears upon bruised eyelids. Love is sharing the ache from cut-smeared bodies, instead of hosting them alone. It’s the calm tone that spurns the shadows of a dark little two-bed room; taking the darkness from the night to see the stars unimpeded.

Love is- well, love is… Echoes. Echoes of what used to be.

It’s a whisper of a man too distorted and rough to be in the place he is, the scratch of pen on paper as he takes what should only be Tom’s to keep. It’s the brush of clothing against the arm as he’s pushed by. It’s the hand, too slow to pin, as the other slips from his slack grip. The lights of a car going down the road, not looking back, not turning back, not _coming_ back...

Sometimes, love is the hopeless feeling that scoops out your soul to drag behind them. 

Love is a man with auburn hair, a beard that the years paint white. It’s the way he tries, _‘This is your home now too, Tom’_. It’s standing under the spray of water trying to carve out the pain in his chest and the rivets that turn red with each scratch. It’s the knowing eyes that are hidden by half-moon spectacles, burning him as much as the aftermath.

Love is pain. It has to be. Otherwise, the warped and broken thing in his chest is his heart, not what crawled in from a time not spoken of.

Sometimes love is a blur of chaos, shapes of people passing by. It’s holding back tears when they spout words like ‘trust and abandonment issues’. Love is the fuzzy static feeling the pills bring, and the fruitless talks he receives for not taking them. The sad glances when it doesn’t sink in. Talks of white rooms and restraints if he doesn’t get his act together. Love is… _Dumbledore says love is respecting himself enough to let it go._

And sometimes… Sometimes love is a head over the heart.

It was raining. He could hear the gentle high-pitch tapping of the water as it pattered on the wet dirt and its accompanying deep rumble of distant thunder. The wind weaved through the trees and rustled its adorning leaves. _‘The middle birthday season,’_ A chipper voice would ring, _‘If yours is in the winter, and mine is in the summer, that means that spring is our in-between birthday. See? Even the sky agrees’_

_‘It’s raining, Harry.’_

_‘Tears, Tom. The sky is crying tears of joy. What’s better than that?’_ A fat water droplet crash-landed into his eye. Well, guess he deserved that, not paying attention and all. Harry would’ve had a laughing fit. 

The muffled squeak of surprise seemed to summon his mentor. “Tom?” Dumbledore peered out of the window, “Ah, there you are.” A frown made home to the older man’s face. “Tom! Get inside. You’re soaked, you’ll catch a cold.” Tom let the man usher him inside, still rubbing furiously at his offended eye.

“I haven’t gotten sick yet, though,” Tom replied. He stripped off the clinging wet garments that held him in a cold vice. The world was coming back to life after the cold months of winter, sliding soundly into happier mid-birthday rainstorms; how could he resist? 

“Yes, but one of these days your luck _will_ run out on you. Why you insist on tempting fate every spring is beyond me.” Dumbledore knew, though. Of course, he did. The man had sat in on all his therapy sessions. Tom made his way to the kitchen. Upon the third shelf sat his pill bottles, taken once in the morning and once at night. His mentor had made sure to watch every other time, so when Dumbledore hovered warily beside him, it went unnoticed. “Tom?”

“Are you trying to memorize my name?” All he got was a stern look, which looked ridiculous and downright dour on the other’s soft-natured face. “You are awfully clingy today, old man.” In truth, the other man had been young when he adopted Tom. ‘Barely out of school’, Mrs. Cole had said. It was stress that had turned his once red hair white. Stress from the years of dealing with Tom’s issues and episodes. It was a sour train of thought that he put a stop to.

“I have something planned today,” He said cautiously, too cautiously, as if Tom might run. It wasn’t a totally unfounded idea. He had done so once or twice when he was younger. 

He was older now, though, truly old enough that he shouldn’t be living with the man anymore, really. It was his mentor’s unwavering devotion to both keeping Tom a functional human being, and not trusting Tom to do it himself, that stayed him. “Go on…”

Dumbledore hesitated, never a good sign. “My publisher called...” Awfully vague- “They want to see me... in person.” Ah. It was always something with them, wasn’t it? Can’t believe he didn’t guess it.

“What? What’s wrong with email and phone calls? They’re all the way in Scotland!” The man was ringing his hands. Tom took a deep breath. The pills would make this conversation more tolerable, but at what cost? He calmly downed his dose. 

“They wouldn’t take no for an answer. The brightside is that the train’s expense is all paid for.” Like that made it all better. _Kiss the booboo better._ Superficial at best. 

Dumbledore had always wanted to be a teacher. A father, first and foremost, but a teacher nonetheless. A brilliant man with big plans. He had managed to put himself through University before having to bail on those plans... Sixteen had been a bad age for Tom. Thus, writing books for schooling had to do. 

“A train? To Scotland? That’ll take _hours_. The trip in total, possibly more than a day. How long do you think you’ll be gone?” Although, it would be nice to have some time alone, it would be weird. He really hadn’t spent more than a few hours alone in the past five years. Hell, he still slept with the door open. He couldn’t fall asleep without hearing the soft sounds of snoring, a remnant of the days spent rooming with other children.

“There’s two tickets, Tom.” He said gently. His mentor was more of a riddle than Tom, so it wasn’t everyday Albus Bloody Dumbledore resorts to being blunt. Tom must have shown something on his face.

An hour later, Tom sagged in the car’s seat. All it had taken was a bit of nagging on his mentor’s part, coupled with the uncertainty of an empty house. How had he become such a pushover? So docile and meek? His younger self would’ve had an aneurysm. 

“Alright, you’ve got everything?” Dumbledore rechecked both luggage and needed parchment.

“Yes, I’m not a child. I can get on the train by myself.” The publishers were either imbeciles or were petty enough to seat them on opposite sides of the train. The older man had tried to rework the arrangement to no avail.

“You can call me if anything happens. I’ll come right down.” Like he would show such weakness. “I’m going to sort out a few things. Are you sure you’ll be fine to get on yourself?” It would be his first time doing something like this, but it would be fine. Others did this all the time, it couldn’t be so bad.

Tom nodded. With a quick hug, he departed from the entrance.

The first thing that registered, was that the hallway was crowded. People were swaying into his way, darting around like massive wasps. He could do this, just one hallway at a time. By the third, the brushes and nudges had wrecked his nerves. No, he wouldn’t turn back. He could do this, he could show Dumbledore that he could make it on his own. Tom needn’t be coddled like a babe. 

But everything was _so loud_. Certainly, it was less crowded than he thought, the station couldn’t be this small. The walls seemed to warp and slowly close in, like in some nightmarish world where buildings could open their maw and consume.

Tom could feel his breath being sucked out from his lungs. His heart was making a run for it, or perhaps it was being plucked from his chest. There were so many people here. So many touching him. Too tight. Too loud. Too-

“Hey!” There were fingers snapping too close to his face. “Focus on me. Focus on my voice.” Was that Dumbledore? Had the man sensed his dilemma? Voices still ruptured around him, people still pushed past. He must have been led to a dark alcove because suddenly, it all faded. It felt like submerging in water, and the noise petered down to a dull thrum. 

Yet, the panic had yet to recede. Tom couldn’t stop hyperventilating. ”Hey.” He couldn’t stop the overwhelming dread, the crushing weight on his chest. The floor? Yes, he must have sunk down the wall. “It’s ok. It’s alright.” The man made a choked, frustrated noise when Tom made no progress. Fair, he was frustrated with himself.

The world flipped and soft cotton lovingly greeted his face. “I don’t know much about these kinds of things, but an old friend used to get overstimulated once in a while. I used to stuff his head into my shirt, too, have him tune into my heartbeat; talk a bit. I hope it works for you, as well. You looked downright miserable. You were just stopped in the middle of the walkway freaking out.”

The man was right. Harry had also done this for him, back when they had lived in the orphanage. The familiarity helped ease Tom back into his mind’s cockpit. With it, the shaking of his hands seemed to abate bit by bit and the tension in his body evaporated. “So, uh, just keep listening to the steady rhythm… I did have a lot of caffeine this morning, might not be the best tempo. But, uh, just try to focus on that and you might feel better.” 

A tentative hand came up to cradle his back while the other played with his hair. It felt nice, blissful, even though he was half-laying on a dirty train station floor. Back in Tom’s teen years, Dumbledore had got emotional whiplash when the man had tried to be tactical, so much so that he had stopped trying. Tom never had the gile to ask him for something as mundane as touch when actually needed, and the man picked the worst times to do so. 

“Shite.” The man mumbled, “This might be totally unwanted. This is totally a violation, I’m violating you. Fuck. _Fuck._ I’ve been told I’m a bit impulsive, sorry. I bet this isn’t even helping you.”

“No, It’s helping,” Tom managed to croak quickly, before the man pulled away. 

“Oh, thank goodness,” The man let out a puff. Tom wiggled his face up to peak at the other. Black hair. Green eyes. Harry style _Circular Framed Glasses_. Immediately all of Tom’s processing power ended. Harry? No, there are many people in the world that look like that. Jumping to conclusions would do no one good. “I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I? We just got very intimate and I haven’t even given you my name. It’s Harry, by the way.”

Nope. Nope. Just a coincidence. Harry is a very common name. “Tom.” He retorted. Not-Harry looked vaguely ill for a moment but then it passed. 

“Not to be that bloke but… I have to ask… Are you, um, are you,” Oh no, Not-Harry was going to ask about his mental health, wasn’t he? People usually got uncomfortable around that. Tom didn’t think he had enough will to last. “Are you Tom Riddle?”

Tom shot up, wide-eyed and slack jawed. “Yes? _Harry?_ ” His brain was going to explode. It was going to leak right out of his ears and nose to dry on the crusty floor. Sitting up was a mistake, because in a second he was back to square one. Except this time _his Harry_ was on top of him, squeezing him so very tight, making small weeping sounds and shaking. 

His Harry was here. _His Harry was here._

A loud beep startled them. Harry kneeled and hoisted an ancient looking flip phone from his pocket. “Sorry, dad makes me carry at least one burner on me at all times,” He said hoarsely, “My train is leaving soon- Are you- Do you- What train are you taking?”

Shite, _his_ train was leaving soon too. “Mine is to Glasgow.” The halls were clear when they stepped out.

It turned out that Harry had the same stop and relatively the same area of seating. The train ride had not been nearly as bad, in fact, quite a blessing. Turns out, Harry had been back to the orphanage a few times after Tom left, to finally settle in with an ex-militant father. He had been visiting friends going to University in the area and was to return to Scotland where they lived.

 _‘He looks a bit offensive, but he’s a big teddy bear, don’t worry.’_ And dear, was he right. He looked like he could kill a man in cold blood. The man was taller than most, with mismatched eyes and platinum hair. Though his clothing toned down the vibe, his face was sharp and cruel. However, when his eyes landed on Harry, he lit up so soft it could rival his mentor.

* * *

A year later...

The air had a bite to it, coming out white puffs by breath. This was by far the most terrifying Valentine's Day he had ever been a part of.

It started off with a team of military-esque men breaking into his room, via his window, to kidnap him. He hadn't even hadn't even woken up properly. It had given both him and his mentor a damn heart attack, until Grindelwald swung himself in and clomped his meaty boots on the floor.

“Is this really necessary?” Tom asked again.

“This is the only way I could get him to agree to a date. He’s very over protective.” No shit. They were on an unplotted island, taken there with a bag on his head, and surrounded by scary men with guns. Not that dating Harry was ever not worth it. Harry completed him like no other, understood him and knew just what most situations called for. His equal. His soulmate, truly, if one believed in such things. He had helped with Tom’s depression and anxiety, though he still had his off days, and knew what to do to snuff out an episode.

But bloody hell. This was going to be a rough ride. “At least tell me there’s a house somewhere. Shelter from the cold? A fire?”

“I, uh, brought a picnic blanket?”

“Fuck.”


End file.
